


Firewhiskey and Shattered Ceramic

by artsy_hoe



Series: Harry Potter Characters and Their Mental Maladies [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Accidental Self-Harm, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Auror Harry Potter, Aurors, Bisexual Harry Potter, Body Horror, Depression, Divorce, Eating Disorder Not Otherwise Specified, Explicit Language, Gen, Graphic Description, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced miscarriage, Introspection, Kinda graphic?, Lesbian Ginny Weasley, Mental Breakdown, Midlife Crisis, Mind Healers (Harry Potter), Post-Divorce, St. Mungo's Healers (Harry Potter), Tired Harry Potter, bad mental health, he gets help dw, i was sad, just in case, so here you go
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-29
Updated: 2020-09-29
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:00:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26707117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/artsy_hoe/pseuds/artsy_hoe
Summary: Harry sighed and took off his glasses to tiredly rub his eyes.  He scratched on his chin where stubble had grown in, picking at the ingrown hairs.  Blearily blinking away sleep, he looked down at the latest Auror files in his hands.  He tried to focus his eyes on the papers in front of him but all he could see was blurry black squiggles no matter how hard he squinted.  Perhaps Hermione was onto something and he needed a break.  He scoffed.  That was preposterous, The Boy Who Lived didn’t deserve breaks; not when so many had died for him.
Relationships: Ginny Weasley/Other(s), Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley
Series: Harry Potter Characters and Their Mental Maladies [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1943716
Comments: 2
Kudos: 12





	Firewhiskey and Shattered Ceramic

**Author's Note:**

> Harry's fic.
> 
> It's essentially a magical mental/physical/emotional breakdown.

Harry sighed and took off his glasses to tiredly rub his eyes. He scratched on his chin where stubble had grown in, picking at the ingrown hairs. Blearily blinking away sleep, Harry looked down at the latest Auror files in his hands. He tried to focus his eyes on the papers in front of him, but all he could see was blurry black squiggles, no matter how hard he squinted. Perhaps Hermione was onto something, and he needed a break. He scoffed. That was preposterous, The Boy Who Lived didn’t deserve breaks, not when so many had died for him. 

He summoned a bottle of firewhiskey and a shot glass and poured himself a glass. Harry relished the burn as the liquor flamed down his throat. It was hard to feel bad about drinking at work when he was the only one here this late even though Hermione would rail on him. Kicking his legs up on his desk, he twirled his wand in one hand and swished his whiskey in the other. Harry supposed that he should head home, but it was hard to muster enough enthusiasm to go back home to a cold, empty home. 

It was hard enough getting himself to eat--cooking just reminded him of the Dursleys, and one could only eat so much takeaway. He poured himself another shot. He exhaled and drank it all in one go. Eyeing the bottle of firewhiskey, Harry calculated the drinks left and shrugged. He could still apparate if he drank that much, so he’d just drink the bottle. He stood up and stretched his stiff limbs, taking special care on his damaged knee. Desk duty didn’t suit him, but that was what Harry was on till his knee fully healed. He was really too old for this shit. Harry was 40, for Merlin’s sake. He should be at home with his kids like he always wanted. 

As soon as the thought crossed his mind, his hands began to shake as he recalled when Ginny was pregnant. Before he dropped the shot glass, he set it down on the shelf and breathed in through his nose, sharply. It was no good to remember when Ginny was pregnant. That would bring on memories of a radiant Ginny, smiling at the life she was growing. Memories of buying baby clothes and receiving a hand-carved cradle from Ron and Hermione, wonderful Ginny. 

Ginny, who had miscarried in the middle of her second trimester in a horrifying slump and a pool of crimson. Ginny, who had, after a two-month-long training session with the Holyhead Harpies, had sat him down and came out as lesbian. Ginny, who left him in the cold fucking house all fucking alone. He took a deep breath before his magic got out of control and stalked back over to his desk. Harry felt the urge to destroy something, so he decided to clock out of work before he hurt himself or smashed his desk (it wouldn’t be the first time, a terrified Charms Assistant had to fix it, and he didn’t want to go through that again). 

Leaving the bottle for another day--he had more at home--Harry filed his papers and put away his quills and ink pots. The night shift workers had just begun to perform their jobs, so he warmly smiled at each of them.  _ Harry Potter does so much; look how tired he is, such a selfless man _ . Harry heard all of their whispers and shrugged them off like water on a duck. It was a practiced skill, born out of necessity like most things he learned in life. Exiting the building, he apparated just outside Grimmauld Place. 

Keeping the house had been a no-brainer, but now Harry began to regret it. The house was no longer dark and grimy, but it had a stagnant air of vile, old magic and unpleasant memories. Stalking inside, Harry took off his boots and coat, tossing them somewhere to the side, and went to the kitchen. 

He went in and out of the kitchen quickly, grabbing another bottle of firewhiskey and on a whim, a bottle of muggle vodka. He left swiftly, moving to the only room in the whole house that wasn’t burdened with memories: the Silver Salon. Unlike Sirius’ bedroom, unlike his bedroom, unlike the hallway with the cupboard under the stairs, unlike the unfinished nursery, unlike the kitchen, unlike every fucking room in Grimmauld Place. 

He sank onto the plush leather sofa and uncapped the vodka. He waved his wand in the direction of the fireplace, and flames began to burn the ashy logs. The room glowed with an orange sheen as Harry took a long swig straight from the bottle. This had become somewhat of a routine; sure, it wasn’t healthy, but what else was he supposed to do? See a mind healer? A raspy chuckle escaped Harry as he thought about it. The Boy Who Lived? Gone to see a mind healer. They’d probably sell his story to the Daily Prophet. He looked at the vodka in the bottle, swirling around, glinting amber from the firelight, and took another drink. 

As the fuzzy numbness of alcohol took over, Harry spread out over the couch. He was lucky Hermione hadn’t figured out his little habit yet; she’d be so disappointed. That was him. Resident disappointment. He disappointed Ginny, disappointed Hermione and Ron, and even disappointed Malfoy when they formed a tentative truce, and Harry pushed him away. He was a disappointment to the entire fucking wizarding world. 

He was supposed to have a wife, three kids, and a picket fence house like everyone expected of him, but he didn’t. His wife was apparently always lesbian. The three kids were never an option with his drinking ‘complication’ and Ginny’s aforementioned queerness and infertility. He lived in a home drenched in misfortune and old wounds. 

His magic ripped out of him and attacked the nearest object. Ceramic and floral iconography exploded into shrapnel in a staggering show of power. Harry cast a quick  _ Protego  _ and tiredly waited it out. Just as soon as it came, it was gone, and the only evidence was thousands of splintery shards of porcelain.    
  


Harry looked at the vase and felt his insides crumbling. That had been a wedding gift from McGonagall, and he had no way of repairing it. He collapsed on the floor and began frantically picking up the pieces, to no avail. Grabbing shard after shard, Harry tried to splice it back together with magic, but it wasn’t fucking working. Goddamnit! 

His hands were bloody, scarlet dripping down his calloused fingers, ceramic splinters wedging between pulpy flesh. Harry hadn’t cried in oh so long, but he felt the faint path of a tear down his cheek. It seemed a dam had burst with the vase, and Harry found himself sobbing. 

It wasn’t loud wailing or horrifying keening, but it was a soul-wrenching sound as Harry felt himself fall the pieces. His magic reacted in kind, fragmenting into glinting pieces surrounding him. He felt his core being torn apart as the very essence that powered him self destructed. Harry let out a whimper and curled into himself, bloody shards cutting skin, magic ripping itself from his body and forming a shield of diamond--well, it wasn’t truly diamond, but it certainly looked like it. 

A hysterical laugh bubbled up from his lungs as he rocked himself back and forth, back and forth. His brain, almost humorously remarked he was experiencing a full magical breakdown, and Aurors and mind healers were likely to show up soon. They’d see the half-empty bottles of liquor littered throughout the room. They’d see the broken vase, and the haphazardly repaired chaise lounge, and the crumbling bookshelf. They’d search the house and see the boarded-up nursery, bedrooms, and the little shrine in the cupboard. 

He began to panic even more. No, no, no, no, no, no, nonono. That couldn’t happen! He was Harry Potter! Harry Potter wasn't allowed to have magical breakdowns. He was strong; he was a Griffindor! No, no, no. Hermione would find out, Ron would find out, Ginny would find out, even fucking Malfoy would find out he couldn’t let that happen. 

Dimly he noted that his panicking was making it exponentially worse as the very foundation of the house began to shudder. Tears were streaming down his face and catarrh clogged up his nose and lungs. He was about to rub his eyes, but his hands were crusted in drying blood as the cuts bled sluggishly, and shards of porcelain were scattered inside of them--touching his eyes would be very bad. 

As he prodded the wounds on his hands, the house stopped shaking, and his magic came to a sort of stasis. It hurt, sure, but nothing could ever come close to the pain in his heart. God, that was fucking cheesy. Harry started giggling, a high pitched, raw laugh that matched the magic pulsing outside of his body unnaturally. He was still shaking, his limbs convulsing in tune with his empty core and unrestrained magic. 

He heard a knock on the door, and he started, eyes widening, shallow breaths going faster, stomach turning. Harry began to hyperventilate; his lungs wouldn’t fucking work as he began to breathe faster and faster, trying to force oxygen into his blood-stream. Already light-headed from the bloodloss, he felt ready to pass out. 

There was another knock on the door, and a man called out, “Auror! Open up, or we will forcibly enter. We are here on the grounds of an extreme magical disturbance.” Harry couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t breathe, and he felt his stomach make its presence known by lurching painfully. 

The same man called out once more, “You have 30 seconds to open the door before we enter.”

Harry vomited. Bile sluiced down his shirt and all over the floor. He continued to wretch and empty his stomach all over the floor as the same asshole Auror yelled  _ Alohorama  _ and kicked open the door. Where was his wand? Where was Harry’s fucking wand?? As the Aurors stomped into Harry’s house, Harry scrambled up to try and escape. Aurors meant he was in trouble, and being in trouble meant the cupboard, and he couldn’t go back there. He couldn’t!

When the Aurors entered the Silver Salon, they were wholly unprepared for the repulsive sight. There was Harry Potter, cowering in the corner next to a collapsed bookshelf, covered in blood and vomit, rocking himself back and forth while muttering incomprehensible words. The three night-shift Aurors didn’t know what to do about anything in this room, much less the empty liquor bottles, the destroyed furniture, and Harry Potter’s fucking magic outside his fucking body in a nebulous cloud of gold and green. 

They were entirely at a loss, so they called for Healer back-up and just stood there. What else were they supposed to do? There was nothing they could do, they weren’t trained in this, and they certainly didn’t know how to deal with the magic all over the room without permanently damaging Harry Potter. If they were perfectly honest with themselves, the only reason they called for healers was because it was Harry Potter, his fame was the only thing protecting him from being forcibly carted off to the detainment cell. 

It was an agonizing ten minutes as the Aurors watched in abject horror at the Saviour of the Wizarding World huddling in a corner sobbing strange phrases such as, “No Uncle Vernon, n-not the belt” and, “No, no, nonono NOT SIRIUS” and more recognizable ones like, “C-cedric please wake up”. Finally, the Healer team arrived and set to work on healing the Boy Who Lived. They were far more professional than the Aurors and compartmentalized any fear, disgust, or confusion to properly care for Harry. 

The Healers first cast cleaning charms and stabilized the environment: vanishing bottles and ceramic, cleaning up bile and blood, mending dangerously teetering furniture. They then, calmly as possible, walked up to their patient. Taking his hands in her own, being mindful of the shards in his palms, Healer Walter began to do breathing exercises to get him out of his head. 

“Harry I need you to breathe with me. In and out. Watch my chest fall, in and out, in and out. You’re doing so good Harry. Keep breathing with me, in and out in and out.” 

Slowly but surely, Harry came back to himself, his breathing evened out, and his eyes lost their glazed sheen as he became more aware. Eventually, he locked eyes with Healer Walter, who’s eyes were filled with so much compassion and love for a stranger that he started crying and suddenly hugged her. It didn’t matter to either of them that Harry was covered in blood and vomit, or that Harry was the savior of the world or anything else. All that mattered was that Harry needed comfort and reassurance. 

Healer Walter rocked him back and forth as he let out all the pain he had been carrying for decades. The Aurors, seeing that the situation was handled, went with one of the three healers to file their report. Healer Harper (the remaining Healer) went to secure the premises--not to snoop like the Aurors likely would have. 

Harry was still crying in the arms of Healer Walter, but his breathing had evened out and the tears had slowed to the occasional sob. She rubbed his back soothingly, sending little pulses of her own magic (lavender and rose) to help stabilize his magic into a less perilous state. 

Eventually his tears dried up and all Harry could feel was shame, choking, suffocating shame. He was so fucking weak how could he let this happen?? He was 40 for Merlin’s sake, he shouldn’t be whimpering like a fucking 8-year-old. As if Healer Walter could read his mind (she probably could) she said in a voice so calm and understanding it almost brought him to tears again, “You are so, so strong Harry. I can’t imagine what pain you have gone through. We have a little bit of work to do, though, before we can take you to Mungos to fix up your hands.”

Harry took a deep breath and nodded his acquiescent, not quite trusting his voice. Healer Walter smiled warmly and explained, “Because your magic has left your body and fractured, I need you to work with me to help reign it back in. So you’re going to do that by centering yourself, don’t worry, I’ll walk you through that. After you center yourself, you’re going to focus on the threads connecting you to your magic and you’re going to cast a spell that requires inner magic such as a  _ Patronous.  _ That way your magic can focus on one thing, gather together, and when you end the spell, it will all go back where it’s supposed to be. While I’m sure you could gather your magic on your own, this way we ensure you keep all of it.” 

Harry nodded again and smiled weakly. Healer Walter’s eyes crinkled and she sat cross-legged across from him. He moved as well, wincing as his cuts were irritated. She looked at him with concern, but he waved her off and she reluctantly accepted that they had to fix his magic before anything else. Healer Walter began speaking sedately and reassuringly on how to center yourself. Harry let her voice wash over himself as he cleared his mind. 

After almost an hour, Harry was able to pull at the threads of his magic and he began absorbing it. Before he got too far, Healer Walter reminded him to cast a  _ Patronus.  _ He did so, relying on the tranquility he had formed to cast the spell and was equally surprised and devastated to see the new form his  _ Patronus  _ had taken on. No longer an elegant stag, but a lumbering bear. Again, as if Healer Walter could read his mind (again, she likely could) cut his spiraling thoughts off. 

“Harry, do you know what bears symbolize?” She asked. Harry shook his head mutely. She continued, “They symbolize many things, but above all, they mean introspection, strength, and healing. It is my understanding that your _ Patronus  _ has changed, and that is alright. You have been through so much, you are so, so strong. Strength doesn’t mean not changing or being solitary. Sometimes strength is what you are doing right now: letting people who care help you. You deserve happiness like everyone else so let yourself find it.” 

Tears snaked down Harry’s face and Healer Walter brushed them away with the pad of her thumb. Harry took a shuddering breath and smiled weakly. Healer Walter smiled tenderly and stood up. “Let’s go get you healed Harry.”

She passed him off to Healer Harper who had just returned so he could side-apparate, she was much too weak after healing Harry. They all apparated to St. Mungos and quickly got him to a room. Healer Harper went to reach Harry’s emergency contacts while Healer Walter went with Harry as an Emergency Healer began to fix his hands. 

Potions after potions were poured down Harry’s throat (blood-replenishing, sober-up, treatment for alcohol poisoning, calming-draught, anti-nausea, and a few others he didn’t catch the name of). A healer whose nametag read Healer Vyxen was given the task of pulling every shard of ceramic out of Harry’s palm. She went about that with a level of concentration and patience that blew Harry away. It took quite some time, but she eventually finished and then began to clean, close, and treat every individual cut with the same amount of care. 

Throughout it all, Healer Walter introduced herself and distracted Harry. He learned that she was a double registered Mind Healer and Emergency Healer so she was one of 6 employees at St. Mungos fully trained to respond to mental and physical health crises. She had a wife and two children, one 14, the other 17. Her favorite color was sky blue and lavender and her favorite food was Deruni made by her wife. 

Once his hands were fully healed and an anti scar potion applied topically, they began to check the rest of his body. The rest of his body was much too hard for Healer Vyxen to complete on her own, so Healer Walter helped as well. They cleaned and healed his knees, his arms, and his back. They cast spell after spell fixing the damage alcohol had done to his body, fixing his malnourishment, fixing all the damage he had done to his body because he thought he deserved it all. 

They did it all without a word, just sad eyes, and kind, understanding smiles. It was all too much and Harry began to panic at being so vulnerable by strangers now that his mind was more or less clear. He was beginning to hyperventilate again, when Healer Vyxen pulled up her sleeves, removed a glamor, and showed Harry the thin white scars that covered her forearms. With an expression of understanding, she said, “It is so, so hard to ask for help and I’m so, so sorry this is what it took for you to get the help you need, but we are all here for you now, it is okay to be vulnerable. You don’t have to be strong all the time.”

Harry looked up at her, met her eyes, and promptly burst into tears. It was all too much and after nearly 2 decades of burying it under work or drinking it away, he didn’t know what to do with himself. The Healers gave him space which he was infinitely grateful for. They let him cry till he tired himself out, eyes red and puffy. 

“Water?” Healer Walter asked.

Harry took it from her and thanked her, sipping the cool water. It was at that moment Hermione and Ron entered looking anxious and when their eyes landed on Harry they relaxed. He wasn’t in immediate danger which brought immense relief to the couple. 

Hermione walked up to him and crushed him in a tight hug. “I love you so, so much and I-i feel so horrible we didn’t notice anyone. But! We’ll get through this together. You deserve the world and you’re going to get the help you need. I love you.” 

Harry gave her a watery smile and she kissed his forehead before sitting down on the foot of the bed to let Ron have the floor.

“Mate I would feel jealous of what Hermione just said if I didn’t agree with it so much. You are so important to the both of us and we love you. Like Hermione said, you deserve the world and I am so bloody sorry we didn’t notice sooner.” 

Harry felt tears prick at his eyes and cleared his throat, “I-i love you both too and I’m sorry I didn’t ask for help. I really need it a-and I’m not going to push you all away again.” 

Hermione and Ron looked at each other before hugging him. Harry embraced them both back and basked in the love of his friends (he hadn’t felt it in quite some time). He wasn’t alright, far from it. 

He was still a mess but he was going to get through it. He would get help and he was going to change. Do something good just for him. 

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I'm not quite sure if this made sense (I was crying and it was nearing midnight) so let me know if you see any glaring errors.
> 
> Obviously, Aurors are as useless as Police Officers in mental health crises so I made sure to try and reflect that.
> 
> I might add a second fix-it chapter but don't hold your breath on it. I will continue this series, though.


End file.
